I decide to explore another avenue. “Do you know any witches who had a problem with Harlow?”
“He would have dealt with any issues of that nature directly. He wasn’t one to sit around and wait for a threat to come to him.” Her answer is ambiguous at best.
I feel as if I’ve wasted another day coming all the way out here.
“If you want to know who had a hand in this, look to those who had something to gain from his death,” Melva adds.
It takes me a second to realize the implication in her words. Most would thinkI’mthe one who had something to gain. I’m the one who replaced him, after all. I want to be pissed at her for the suggestion, but she doesn’t know me, and I know it’s the furthest thing from the truth.
“You admitted yourself it would have needed to be someone he trusted to for him to fall for such a ploy, or at the very least someone who knew him well enough to know where he would be and when so they could spring the trap.”
“What would it have taken to trap him in a circle?Couldhe have simply walked into it?” I don’t know enough about the nuances of ritual magic.
“In a sense, yes. Let’s say someone created the circle with crystals, which is much easier to conceal than a circle made from chalk or inlayed in the ground, tapping into ley lines, which is much stronger.” Melva speaks with her hands, miming a circle. “Let’s also say they left one stone out of place, so the magic wouldn’t be evoked yet, and waited for the target to pass through the mostly formed circle. Someone, a witch most likely, would have had to set the final stone. I say a witch, because the stone would need to be placed very precisely for the circle to actually work.”
I stew on the information for a second, but no revelation comes with the knowledge. “Harlow would have known there was someone there. It’s not as if some witch could have been hiding in the bushes.”
“I’m just offering the most logical explanation with the limited material I have to go on.” Melva widens her hands in surrender. “I wasn’t there,” she says slowly, “nor were any of the witches in my coven.”
“How can you be so sure?” Modeus asks before I can.
“The same way I knew we had visitors—wards,” she answers easily.
My questions stall after that. I don’t think badgering Melva is going to get me any more answers, and she seems willing to offer what she can.
“Is there someplace we could rest for a few hours? We have a long ride back.”
“Of course.” The witch dips her head in deference.
* * *
Lore
Melva’s numberis programmed into my phone before we leave late the next afternoon. The witch promised to provide any help she could. The trip may not have been as fruitful as I’d hoped, but we did learn a few things that hopefully made it worth the time and loss of orgasms I could have had if I were at home.
I only catch sight of Egan twice on the four-hour journey back to Delten. I forgo the clubhouse and head straight to my church. I haven’t been away long enough to actually feel the drain of being absent, but it’s ingrained in me to return.
Modeus is off his bike faster than me, but he pauses, holding the lock in his hands. “We’re going to need to get some keys made.” I pull my set from the ignition of my bike and toss them over to him.
Modeus smiles as he unlocks the door and pulls it open. I look up, expecting to see Egan at any moment, but the evening sky is clear, and a ball of dread forms in my stomach. I hurriedly kick down my stand and hop off my bike, nearly tripping in the process.
“What’s wrong?” Modeus demands, grabbing my arm to keep me upright.
“Where’s Egan?” I spin so I can get a better view.
A shadow crosses my bedroom window, catching my attention, and I curse, “Bastard,” under my breath.
Modeus figures it out quickly. “He’s already inside.”
My concern morphs into aggravation. It’s almost frightening how I went from being fiercely independent to being…whatever this is. “He could at least open the door for us,” I gripe.
“I’ve got it,” Modeus offers before pushing the heavy wooden door open for me and stepping to the side so I can enter. We really need to repair the lock.
It’s a toss-up between the bathroom and the fridge once I get inside. Long rides always dry me out, yet I still need to pee, go figure.
Modeus beats me to the closest bathroom, so I grab a couple of waters and holler, “I’m going to shower.”
I eye Egan when I enter the room. He’s sitting on the bed with his shoulders hunched, but he still looks too fucking good for someone who should be exhausted. I’m a little peeved with him also. He made me worry, even if it was just for a few seconds.
